


A Gentleman and His Ward (Are Not Soon Parted)

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Good Sex, Mutual Non-Con, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: If he wished to kiss her, surely that was nothing. She was not so foolish as to be unaware of Milord having kissed a number of women, none of whom he'd married.





	A Gentleman and His Ward (Are Not Soon Parted)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mossy_Moondark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossy_Moondark/gifts).



> i loved all your prompts, but this one jumped out to me in particular, so i couldn't resist writing you a treat.

Of all the guests she might have expected Milord to invite for the celebration of her coming of age, the ones waiting for her as she entered the room appeared to have been chosen to ensure that she would not enjoy the evening.

There was a gaggle of young men to whom she had not been introduced, but whose eyes she had felt following her on the evening of her debut and at every social gathering since. ( _"Think of them as mere hounds, love - pups, eager for a taste of - well,"_ Milord had shrugged. _"The thing to remember is that a gentleman will never speak to a lady he had not been introduced to, and I, for one, am entirely too sensible to introduce my ward to any keen-looking lad with a few pennies and a title."_ )

There was the pair of elder gentlewomen who'd only last week inspected her like a steer at a cattle market, discussing her physical and mental qualities as if she were a piece of furniture ( _"My dear, I do not believe they are so lacking in intelligence as to believe furniture capable of rational thought,"_ Milord had said, missing her point completely, but then he'd prattled on for a bit about what a strange and wonderful world it would be if there would, in fact, exist furniture capable of, say, fetching one a pillow or a cup of tea, and she'd been too amused to keep feeling annoyed.)

There were a number of elder gentlemen to whom she _had_ been introduced. ( _"It is the belief of our society that marriage makes a man respectable and a woman both dull and unattractive,"_ Milord had murmured, after she'd complained about yet another clammy handshake. _"Not having had any personal experience, it is perhaps not my place to speculate, but even so I have met plenty of bachelors who were perfectly respectable, to say nothing of married women who seemed perfectly delightful, if perhaps a trifle dissatisfied with their husbands."_ )

In fact, the only person in the room who did not make her want to come up with an excuse to leave immediately was Milord himself, who appeared to have claimed a large sofa exclusively for himself.

She steeled herself and walked into the room, reminding herself that after tonight, she would have the rest of her life to make her own choices.

 

Milord had offered her a drink with an alacrity that bordered on the indecent.

She'd emptied her glass in a very short time even so - there was something stifling about the atmosphere in the room, the way people kept looking at her and Milord.

Contrary to her expectations, he had not risen from his place to escort her around the room. None of the guests had approached to extend their congratulations, either, which seemed like rather poor manners, except that, with everyone doing so, it was clearly what was expected.

She drained her glass again, wondering at Milord's lack of protest to her allowing him to fill it a third time. The wine seemed to dull her senses, reducing the presence of everyone else to something almost bearable. Only Milord stayed in focus, solid and physical and real.

 _"If you know how to do so, you may wish to use your fingers, before,"_ he'd told her yesterday, discussing what little he had felt she ought to know about tonight. _"I've been told it eases the discomfort."_

His hand was on her arm now. She wondered what had happened to her gloves, then realized she must have removed them.

She'd been told repeatedly that a lady must never let a gentleman touch her skin, but as this was Milord, she imagined that there was no impropriety to it. Besides, it was nothing.

_"I have already instructed your maid as to certain ... adjustments to your wardrobe. No need to make things more difficult, what?"_

If he wished to kiss her, surely that was also nothing. She was not so foolish as to be unaware of Milord having kissed a number of women, none of whom he'd married.

The experience was pleasant enough, really. It did not make her wish to swoon, the way it did in some of the booklets the kitchen maid had smuggled into her room, but it did not make her wish to slap him either, as some of the heroines did when someone accosted them.

Milord kissed her again, his hand moving up her arm as if stroking it.

She felt herself shiver, which was silly. If anything, the room was too hot, especially as full of guests as it was, all of whom were -

"Look only at me, there's a good girl." His breath tickled her ears, which had not been in any of the booklets, yet somehow made her stomach flutter. There was a sensation growing between her legs, also, a longing to be touched, to be held, to be kissed again and again and again.

Milord regularly claimed that he could not be expected to read other people's minds, yet he gave every appearance of having read hers. She became aware of his body, the weight and strength of it as he made it so that she was on her back, and he on top of her, leaning down to find her mouth again with his own.

Her head was positively swimming now. She was vaguely aware of the sensation of air against her legs, of someone hitching up her skirts far higher than a gentlelady ought to ever allow.

When she'd entered the room, there had been the murmuring sound of conversation - now, the sound of her own breathing seemed uncivilly loud. (Not just hers, she realized after a moment. Milord's as well, although that might only be because he was so close to her.)

She felt his touch on her thigh and then he moved his hand even higher up, to the place between her legs where the kitchen maid claimed babies came from.

It sent a shock through her entire body as he reached it, and she heard herself make a most unladylike sound for which Milord would surely reprimand her later, in private. She had not seemed able to help it, though, any more than she seemed able to regain control of her own body.

The sensation of his fingers touching her in a place no one had touched before kept sending little shivers through her body. All of her senses seemed sharpened, although only when it came to Milord.

His breathing was decidedly ragged now, his expression passingly odd, unlike any she had seen him wear before. He seemed near feverish, which seemed confirmed by how hot his skin felt.

Both his hands were on her arms now, pinning her down as if he was afraid she might flee. He must have realized what a silly idea that was; he eased his grip after a few moments, fumbling with his clothes. The place between her legs throbbed, and she wondered if it would be proper for her to put her fingers where his had been.

Then something else was there - something clearly a part of his body, but strange, unfamiliar. She assumed that it was usually hidden by his clothes, leaving her to imagine what it might look like based solely on what she felt.

He kissed her again, making it hard to concentrate. It did not greatly matter anyway. If it was anything she ought to know, surely Milord would show her again, perhaps in his study, where it would be just the two of them. For now, she ought to try and behave as a good ward ought, to ensure he would not lose face and to be a credit to his family name.

She felt her body clench, as if trying to keep something inside, and she heard herself moan again as if delirious. Milord grunted, moving against her as if he wished to push his strange appendage where his fingers had briefly slipped inside of her.

She wondered if she ought to do something, and if so, what. Milord grunted again, straining, pushing and this time, she felt something inside of her open up and give way.

The sensation of his fingers had been pleasant enough, if strange. What was inside of her now was larger, nearly painfully so. It filled her in a way that was not at all comfortable and yet at the same time, there was a rightness to it, a growing certainty that this was what men did with women, and that, as she was now a woman and Milord had always been a man, it was right that he should do this to her.

He whispered her name in a ragged voice, and she realized that this was not the end of it, that there was more to come. She wondered if he was waiting for her permission, if she could say something now and end this. She was uncertain if she wanted to.

Milord moved, pulling out of her, before pushing back in. He repeated the movement again and again, and it seemed to her that each time, his appendage got inside of her a little deeper, filling her a little more completely. Illogically, as he went on, her discomfort eased, until she was beginning to enjoy herself, to welcome each thrust as he made it.

She paid little attention to what sounds she might give voice to, or what involuntary movements might betray her loss of control over her own body. Clearly, Milord paid such things not the least heed.

Instead, she tried to find ways to wrest such sounds from him, to open her body to him more fully, and to keep him inside of her longer, ensuring that he had gone as deep as he might before leaving her empty once again, waiting, wanting, _aching_ to be filled.

Milord seemed pleased enough to oblige her, until the tension that had been building in her body abruptly resolved, leaving her gasping and breathless.

Milord groaned, and she felt the hands that had been gripping her arms relax as he sank down on top of her. She felt too worn out to protest, only distantly aware of him stroking her hair, telling her that she was his, his, his, which had seemed evident to her from the moment he had been introduced to her as her new guardian anyway, and thus required no response.

As her breathing eased, she became aware of the low murmur of conversation resuming once again.


End file.
